Set Fire to the Third Bar
by Noviebird
Summary: After the sudden death of the Metacrisis Doctor, Rose finds herself back in her true universe with nothing but a map that he made for her just in case he died- one that can lead her back to the Doctor. The Doctor is also surprised to find a map the day after the Metacrisis's death, one which he blindly follows. Will these maps lead to reunion, or will their plans go down in flame?


**_[A/N, first fanfic I've fully completed, hollaaaa! It's a Rose/Eleven one, not all about romance, but still Rose/Eleven. Rose/Eleven is cool. Anywhom, it's probably not the most character accurate, but I'm working on that. Any comments/criticism are welcomed._**

**_I would hiiighly recommend listening to the amazing song that inspired this before or while you read, if you haven't heard the song already. It's called Set Fire to the Third Bar, by Snow Patrol. (S'right here- /cnmuJ9LczV4)_**

**_I'll stop babbling now and let you read. I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit. Thankies!]_**

* * *

_I find a map and draw a straight line_

_Over rivers, farms, and state lines_

_The distance from 'A' to where you'd be,_

_It's only finger-lengths that I see_

* * *

Her hands search through piles of discarded items, digging as tears form damp lines on her cheeks. One thing, there's one thing she wants to find, but it's the one thing that seems to evade her: a map. Not just any map, she doesn't have a fetish, but a specific one. Hope is the only motivation that keeps her going, she briefly wonders if this is enough to push her to success, but brushes the question away. This is not a time for questions, this is a time to act.

Finally, her fingers wrap around the little map of Europe she had been so desperate for. Unfolding the worn paper, she adjusts the strap of the backpack that's weighing so heavily on her shoulder. She smooths it out on her coffee table in a rush, tears falling and leaving wet spots on the yellowing material. Her index finger follows penned lines, the ink rubbing off and leaving black marks on her fingertip, which she ignores.

Hungrily, the pupils of her eyes scan the paper, eyelids filling with tears once again. He had known all along that he would die, and he planned accordingly. This map, scribbled on in the black ink of his favorite pen, was her saving grace. Her future. Her safety net. On it, one word is legible: "Run," written in his fast, chicken-scratch handwriting.

Her finger traces the letters, and she can almost feel his hand as it scrawls them down hurriedly. Arrows point from the word to three locations, she notes, and each location is accompanied by a date in time. Messily, she writes the coordinates of the dots on a little piece of lined paper with their respective dates. She would carry out his final wish for her, no matter how impossible it seemed, or how vague his guidance is. He liked impossible, and she liked that about him.

The lined paper containing coordinates is crumpled and shoved into the pocket of her leather jacket for later use. She's not sure where they lead, not sure what she'll find, but she trusts his plan, even if he's dead.

As her hands lift the map to begin to deftly fold it and put it in her pocket with the coordinates, a square of paper about the size of a Post-It note falls from it and onto the smooth surface of the coffee table. It's blindingly white, in great contrast to the almost-yellow of the map. She plucks it off of the cool wood, only to see it contains four more chicken-scratch words. "Rose," the paper begins, "find him." He signed it off simply as John, and the sight of his name provokes tears to spill from her eyes once more. He was called John Smith by the public, but she couldn't help but refer to him as the Doctor. She truly couldn't.

With those four words, she knows exactly what he intended with this map. Tears spill over her eyelids and she clutches the map to her heaving chest, for she knows what she must do: find the Doctor.

* * *

"Are you sure you have to go, Doctor?" Amy Pond asks sadly, the hint of a whine in her voice denoting that she hopes the answer is no. Rory stands beside his wife with a neutral look upon his face but a glint in his eye that says he wants the same.

"I'm afraid so, Pond," the Doctor states, wringing his hands, "I've heard that there's a formation of stars in the Kirikot galaxy that glows all the shades of the Kirikotian rainbow- colors you can't imagine- one time every four million and three years, and I don't want to miss it!" he enthuses, his face stretched in a wide grin, his hands flailing about to illustrate his words.

Amy laughs, stepping forward to wrap the Doctor up in a hug. "Fine, Doctor, go have fun with your stars in the Cricket galaxy."

He hugs her back briefly, stiffly, before freezing to correct her, "Kirikot."

"Whatever, Raggedy Man," she grins again as he turns toward his beautiful blue police box. "Just promise you'll come back soon and visit, okay?" Worry tinges her voice, she always worries when he leaves. Her fear, deep down, is that one day he'll say goodbye and never return.

"Can do, Pond," he assures. "I'll try my best."

"You'd better," she teases as he opens the doors to his ship, giving a quick wave of her hand to show him off. Rory gives the same. "Goodbye, Doctor!"

"Goodbye, Ponds!" He waves in return, stepping inside the TARDIS and shutting the doors behind him. What pain goodbyes can cause, he thinks, and he can feel his hearts aching for their company already. His smile fades a bit and he slowly strides towards the console, his hand drifting across various controls. His mind recalls where he was going to go and he clicks a button, pulls a lever, until the TARDIS dematerializes. "Goodbye, Ponds," he whispers to himself, downcast and alone once more.

Almost at the moment he enters the Time Vortex, something out of the ordinary catches his eye. On the seat only a few feet away from the console sits a small, metallic box, a pod, that must have made its way in when the Doctor said farewell to the Ponds. The brief thought that it could be dangerous crosses his mind before he pulls out his sonic screwdriver and scans the object, surprised to find that it's not armed. According to the scan, it also carries matter from a recent trip through the Void between universes. He wishes he had his 3D glasses. Curiosity overwhelms him, overpowering any caution he might have had, and he picks it up, unhooking a latch and opening the lid.

Inside sits a neatly folded piece of paper, worn and yellow. His long, nimble fingers pick it up, unfolding it. He discovers that it is a map, one covered with penscribbles in handwriting that is unmistakably his, although he remembers no such map. His brow knits as he reads the word 'run', his eyes trace the arrows that lead from the letters to three dots located in major European cities. Each dot has a date next to it, and he carries the map to the console, plugging the dates and coordinates of the dots into the monitor via the typewriter.

After double, then triple checking that each bit of information is right, he hovers a hand above a lever, the other hand still holding the map. He doesn't know what any of it means, but his hearts are telling him to throw caution to the wind. With just a moment's hesitation, he yanks the lever and abandons all thoughts of the Kirikot galaxy, eager to see where the TARDIS takes him.

* * *

_I'm home._

_Well, not quite home, but at least I'm in the right universe now._

Rose smirks in satisfaction and stands with her hands on her hips, gazing upon the universe she left so long ago, the one she traded for the alternate one she'd called home for years now, Pete's World. With the help of a little alien technology from Torchwood, it was easy enough to make it here, although she surely left a Rose-shaped rip in the fabric of space. Oops.

Still grinning, Rose removes from her pocket that piece of paper with coordinates and dates that is so valuable to her mission. She supposes she's going to need another map of Europe, considering she sent- well, at least attempted to send- the original map to the Doctor via more alien technology from Torchwood. She really hopes that they won't be missing that pod any time soon... and above all, she hopes that that pod actually made it to him. She shudders at the thought of some random alien receiving her message and tracking her down.

Back to reality, Rose considers her options and decides to purchase a new map (as well as a closer-up one of London and the other two cities where she'd find one of her three destinations) from a nearby shop established for the needs of tourists. She stands in front of the shop for a brief spell, holding the maps, tracing a path from the place where she stands to point A- the first coordinate. It's only a finger's-length away, yet so far.

Trying not to let this discourage her, she stuffs the extra maps in her pocket, keeping only the one of London and her lined page of coordinates in-hand. With only these in possession, she starts off with a spark of determination in her honey eyes and the Bad Wolf locked in her heart.

* * *

_I touch the place where I'd find your face_

_My fingers in creases of distant dark places_

* * *

"Geronimoooo!" The Doctor yells as he grabs onto the console for a rather bumpy landing. With the map clutched in his hand and a small grin, he steps out of the TARDIS, locking it closed. His eyes flicker from the map to the city in which he landed- London, by the looks of it- and he straightens his bowtie.

Thank the TARDIS and her impeccable mind, she landed him _very_ close to the location that the coordinates lead to. One, two, three times he checks the map before deciding that this bar is indeed the place. L'épine de la Rose, it's called, the TARDIS translates it to "The Rose's Thorn". Something about this title makes him shiver.

He strides into the small bar, looking about the room, drinking in the details. Only a few people are scattered amongst the room: a group at a booth in the corner, all clearly very drunk, a few lonely drinkers, and lastly, a girl whom he seems very nearly drawn to. She sits with a half-empty glass and a far-off look. Her hair is long and blonde, she wears a leather jacket that he knows he's seen before, but the way she holds herself over the dark wood of the bar seems, while still lovely, to be very unfamiliar indeed. He can't see her face, either.

There's a sliver of time where he thinks that she is his Bad Wolf, come back for him, and the thought makes his hearts beat faster. However, he shakes the idea. It's been years since then, and besides, Rose is trapped in another universe. It's not her.

Instead of perching next to her like he wants to so much, he takes a seat at the opposite end of the bar, hanging his jacket on the back of the chair and leaning on the counter with his hands woven through one another. His bottle-green eyes stare into oblivion, deep in thought, partially listening to the drunks across the room argue over scientific theories that don't exist. They don't quiet.

Eventually he's tuned the world around him out, focusing solely on whatever reason it is that he's here, the girl from before startles him out of his reverie. Laughter from the drunks echoes and fills his ears, breaking the barrier of silence he had formed for himself.

"'Scuse me, sir, d'ja drop this?" she asks, offering a whitish slip of paper with words scribbled on it. He didn't drop it, but it's in his handwriting, so he takes it, thanking her. She nods with a tongue-in-teeth smile that he knows all too well and slips out the door, flicking a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder. He watches her as she goes, questioning why he didn't reveal who he is, or why she didn't see that it was him. The girl was Rose, he's sure, same face, same voice, same trademark smile. But that couldn't be. She would have aged, but she looks just like she did (in the face, at least, although she may be a bit more fit) the last time he saw her! That's really, really impossible, isn't it? He supposes, but he has always liked impossible.

He gets up to follow her, talk to her, but she's already long gone. She wouldn't recognize him now anyway, he realizes, for when she saw him last he still wore pinstripe suits and trainers and had a different face.

The note reads, "Travel far, Doctor. Only then will you find love and enough fire to take it away. Don't say who you really are until you see that fire. Trust me, I'm you." It seems tetchy, but he wonders absentmindedly what it means.

* * *

_I hang my coat up in the first bar,_

_There is no peace that I've found so far_

_The laughter penetrates my silence_

_As drunken men find flaws in science_

* * *

It's with a heavy heart that Rose journeys to the point B, as she's begun to call it somewhat affectionately. It's a lot farther than she imagined it would be, which is disheartening, but besides that, she found nothing at the first point. Just a sad little bar where you can almost feel the failed dreams and broken hearts. Ghosts of what used to be, whispering their dark little tales of demise, just voices. Their words are white noise. She wished that she would find the Doctor- not her Doctor, meta-crisis clone, deceased human "John Smith", but _the_ Doctor- to no avail.

There was a bloke, though, and he seemed to attract her like a magnet. He drew her in with those old eyes, his bowtie, and dark hair that flopped over his forehead. She managed to tear her eyes from his, as green as the emerald waterfalls of Dublonsk that she had loved so much, and had walked away. What if it wasn't the Doctor, and she just looked like a fool? She can only imagine the shade of red her face would flush when he would reply, "Doctor who?" and she would stammer away.

_But what if it was him?_

That night, her first night back in her universe, she finds her way back to her old apartment. It lies untouched, per a few things. Dishes lay uncleaned, dust bunnies abound, and laundry is still in a basket on the floor next to her bedroom door. She wonders if she's actually been gone that long in this universe.

Laying silently in her own bed, she finds tears tracking down her cheeks. It's cold here without her Doctor.

She dreams of the night he died, all valiant and heroic, sacrificing himself in order to save the world. The death seemed fitting for him somehow. His last words, strangled and broken, weave a melody in her mind._ I love you Rose, don't you forget it. Please. Don't forget me, either. Don't you even dare._ He was gone before she could answer,_ I love you too, Doctor. I love you too. I won't forget. I could never forget._ All she could do was ball her fists in his jacket and sob as he grew colder.

She thought he'd come up with something clever, a way to escape, but he didn't. She thought he would come back, but he didn't. She screamed his name in her sleep and awoke with a raw throat, neighborhood dogs barking like mad. She thought he would be show up miraculously to greet her when she woke up sobbing, to tell her it was all a dream.

_But he didn't._

_And it kills her._

* * *

_Their words, mostly noises_

_Ghosts with just voices_

_Your words in my memory_

_Are like music to me_

* * *

The next morning Rose pulls herself out of bed sluggishly, relived memories weighing her down. Dark circles occupy the skin beneath her eyes, and tear-tracks of the makeup she forgot to wash off the night before accompany them. Not quite eager to begin another day of searching, she finds herself in a scaldingly hot shower, hoping to burn away any evidence of the night beforehand. The makeup comes off easily, however it doesn't take the heavy sadness or the disappointment with it.

Her feet meet a plush bathmat as she steps out of the shower, steam erupting from behind the curtain. She wraps a towel around her torso, observing herself in the fogged mirror. Her hair is long, too long, and her face worn. She looks like she hasn't aged at all- and she hasn't, whatever the Time Vortex did to her made her at least mostly immortal, as she and her Doctor figured out- but she feels years older than when she stood before this mirror last.

Now, at roughly 46 years old with the forever-appearance of her 19-year-old self, maybe she really isn't who she was then. 19 by looks, yes, but her heart has lived much longer than that, and weathered much more.

Rose slides to a sitting position against the wall behind her, her face in her palms. Tears spill and she shudders with every sob, crying simply because she wants to. Why shouldn't she? She's lost her husband, her parents, and now she can't even really go home. She might not find the Doctor, then where would she be?

Tears trek down her face, hot and quick, one after another. She can't stop. Rose Tyler, the Bad Wolf, the one who defeated Daleks and Slitheen and countless other ferocious alien races, curls up on her side on the cold tile, whimpering. Such easy defeat, she supposes, but she doesn't care. It's not until she remembers why she's here, in this universe, that she can bring herself to her feet, sniffling and wiping her cheeks. She's here for a reason, and that reason has a name:

The Doctor.

She needs to find him. She's got nothing else to live for, so she might as well try.

That is what drives her to stand up, get dressed in getup similar to the previous day, with the same leather jacket. That's what drives her to get her backpack, lock her front door, and set out with map in hand.

_Point B, here I come_, she thought gleefully. _Doctor, here I come_.

* * *

The TARDIS' engines slow at the second point on the map, and the Doctor stalls before he opens the double doors. What if this endeavor was as fruitless as the last? He tries not to think like that, though, as he tracks down the second location. That kind of thinking never got anyone anywhere. He triple-takes upon finding it, it's another bar. This one is by the name of "Le Cri de Loup". The Wolf's Cry. _Why are all these names French?_ He contemplates as he presses the door open.

This one is definitely fancier than the last, but there's still a group of rather loud drunks. Honestly, what is a bar without that group of drunks? He attempts to tune out their voices when his eyes settle on the blonde from yesterday, whom is dressed in only slightly different attire but appears less put-together. Her posture is more slumped over her glass of whiskey, which she doesn't drink. Instead he peers over at her as she stirs it with a clear straw, just watching it, more or less. She seems like Rose, bears the same air and demeanor, but she appears so young. This... this woman can't be her. _Can it? It could be some diabolical alien trying to fool me. She won't recognize me if I use an alias... I really should steer clear, that would be wis_e, he thought.

Quite the contrary, he finds himself seated on the barstool next to her, ordering a drink and stealing glances over at her. He never really has defined himself as wise. "I saw you yesterday, at that bar in London," he states suddenly, catching her attention.

"Yeah? And I saw you too. What of it? You followin' me, bowtie?" she pokes, smirking with a slight deviance that he's only ever seen Rose (and maybe Amy) manage.

"Not on purpose," he quips awkwardly, "and don't make fun of the bowtie. Bowties are cool."

"Whatever you say..."

"Oh, uh- John," he offers, stuttering. He sees her eyes flash with sadness, confusion, and snap back abruptly to their previous, slightly more gleeful state.

"Right, John," she nods, collectedly offering her hand, which he shakes. "Well, hello John. I'm Rose."

This confession is enough proof for the Doctor to want to reveal his real name, have an actual reunion with her. _Just kidding, I'm the Doctor_. But the note from the day before said not to tell until he 'sees that fire'. He's positively lost as to what that means, but he should probably heed that advice just in case.

He questions if this is really, truly Rose- not a clone or a doppelgänger, but really his Rose. How is he to be sure? _It seems unlikely, she's in Pete's World with the human Doctor. Or... or she's supposed to be. Could it actually be her?_

_Impossible._

_But what if it is?_

_No. Can't be._

_...But what if it is?_

_Okay, I'll just... I'll speak with her, and if she seems like she's not an evil alien clone then maybe it's really her! No no no, bad plan, Doctor. Bad plan..._

Regardless, he ends up sitting with her at the bar for what seems like minutes, but is more like hours. It's nervous and blundering before they both loosen up, beginning to grow comfortable. Until the wee bits of the morning, when she has had fun with him and has had just a little too much to drink, they just talk. They talk about anything. Fish fingers and custard and the number of bowties that he owns. Anything.

He decides that she is definitely Rose.

Halfway through, however, when Rose has more than lost herself in all the alcohol and the Doctor hasn't had a thing to drink, he's assured that it's her. She starts jabbering on about time-travel and who she's looking for and what happened to her husband (aka John Smith, the human Doctor, the reason she'd flinched when he'd said his name is John, etc.) and how she's getting tired of looking, and she just wants to go home, but she doesn't have one of those. He feels sorry for what he's caused in her life, but he listens, he really listens, giving the occasional "Ah, okay," or, "I see, I see."

Once she's done talking (and boy, does she _talk_) she decides she wants to go home to her flat so she can sleep, even though her flat is so, so far away. But upon standing, he sees that, well, she can't stay upright. She falls clumsily to her knees, sniggering. He sighs, scooping her up in the middle of the almost-empty bar, bridal style. Patiently, he carries her to the TARDIS, one-hundred-and-one percent sure she isn't going to remember this tomorrow. He flies her home in his police box like old times, carrying her upstairs and lying her on her plush mattress.

She sleeps. He stands next to the bed, watching her. Wanting to snatch her up in her sleep and take her to the TARDIS, take her to see the stars again.

But he can't, not yet.

She stirs in her sleep, mumbling something about how she won't forget, won't ever forget. He smiles slightly, he doesn't know why. Leaning down, he places a kiss on her forehead, and just like that, he's gone.

She dreams of his face and everything is blurry, from his eyes to his bowtie to his endearing, recognizable grin. She doesn't remember much at all.

* * *

_I'm miles from where you are_

_I lay down on the cold ground_

_And I, I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_

* * *

She awakes the next morning with a killer headache. She only remembers bits and pieces- _something about fish fingers and custard and I faintly remember talking about Roman soldiers_- but she doesn't remember getting home. She supposes she hailed a cab or something, but no, that seems wrong.

She drags herself from the sheets, moaning in pain and suddenly in a mad hunt for some Advil. She pulls on a dressing gown and stumbles to the kitchen, gulping down one of the little green pills with some water. Then, only one question swims in her mind.

_What the hell happened last night?_

While contemplating this, she paces back to her room, something small and silver catching her eye for the floor. Upon further inspection, she sees it's a key- but not just any key, a TARDIS key. And not her TARDIS key, either, that one's on a necklace chain on the dresser in her room, a momento, plus hers is shaped a bit differently. So... whose could it be?

Without rush, she bends down to grasp the small, metallic key. The second her fingers touch the cold metal a memory resurfaces- _John's face, but not my John, the John from the bar. He... carried me home? No, he drove me home. In what?_

The sudden realization hits her: he drove her home in a TARDIS. His TARDIS.

She freezes. John, not her John, the John from the bar- he's the Doctor.

_The actual Doctor._

Rose scrambles to pick up the key, determined to give it back. She thinks of the third location, will he be there? She trusts that he will show up, clicking his key down next to hers. If not, well, she chooses not to consider that.

With this trust in place, she readies herself to search one last time, for point C, the third bar.

Few hours have passed when she found it, the last place. The third bar. It is, indeed, a bar- one named "Les Nuits Feu". She doesn't know what it means, and she enters, hopes high.

She's disappointed to see that he isn't there yet- then again, she arrived first the other two times. Her fingers play with the key in her pocket, she waits eagerly to give it to him, waits eagerly just to... to see him, with the knowledge of who he is. _It's been too long_, she thinks.

An hour passes, and he isn't to be seen.

And another.

She begins to question if he'll arrive at all.

After two and a half hours, she begins to listen in on other people's conversations about so-and-so doing this-and-that. These grow boring quickly.

After two hours and fifty-one minutes of waiting, a chef bursts from the kitchen, bright red and looking as though he's caught in a panic. He frets, looking for something before disappearing into the kitchen again, only to reemerge minutes later.

"What's wrong?" Rose asks him, confused and slightly annoyed.

The chef glances behind him and screams. "Fire!"

* * *

_After I have traveled so far_

_We'd set the fire to the third bar_

* * *

The Doctor is having quite the bit of trouble with the TARDIS today.

He dropped his key somewhere, presumably at Rose's whilst he was struggling not to drop her. Luckily for him she opened her doors when he snapped his fingers anyway. She still seemed angry though, and refused to create any sort of new key for him. He grumbled at her as he began to pull at levers and press big, threatening buttons.

She, however, did not cooperate. He asked for the time and coordinates on the map, she gave him London of 1913. "No, no, no!" he complained, "we need to be where this map says, when this map says so! Come on, work with me!"

Jamming buttons again, after many tries, he ended up in the right place. Right time, too. He thanks the TARDIS before closing her doors and hopes no one infiltrates her.

He arrives at the bar two hours and fifty-six minutes later than he should have. Although maybe this isn't the right place at all, because this place is going up in flame. No, that can't be right. He checks the map again. It is.

He wanders closer to the place, realizing upon approach that people are still inside, frantic screaming bellowing from inside. _Rose_.

Adrenaline causes his hearts to beat faster and he peels off his jacket, holding it over his mouth and nose, before dashing inside the burning bar. He guides people to the exit, helping many, but sees no sign of Rose. His feet carry him farther into the bar, closer to the source of the fire, and he finally hears her.

"Someone?" she calls helplessly, "help, please..."

"Rose!" The Doctor answers, "hold on!" He receives no reply, but he tries not to allow this to phase him.

Few minutes of chaos ensue. Support beams crumble, floors collapse, and the Doctor weaves around, trying to find Rose through the thick ash with no success. "Rose!" He yells, looking about, and smoke burns his eyes. He ignores it, or tries to.

He hears a very, very weak call from near the kitchen.

"Rose! I'm coming!" he assures, dodging a falling support. He leaps over the bar, seeing her crumpled frame through the fire and smoke. Rather heroically if he does say so himself, he bends down and picks her up, climbing nimbly back over the counter with her unconscious body in his small, strong arms.

It takes him a bit to escape the burning bar, but he does, leading few others in the process. Firetrucks circle the char, spraying it with water to calm the angry, red flame. Paramedics dash to and fro. The Doctor carries Rose all the way back to the TARDIS, laying her carefully on the floor once inside. Both of them are very burnt, very tired, but alive. The Doctor falls to his hands and knees on the ground next to her, sputtering and coughing. After a bit of this, he lies down, exhausted, right by her side.

* * *

_We'd share each other like an island_

_Until, exhausted, close our eyelids_

* * *

When she awakes, he is next to her. Both of them rest on the floor of the TARDIS, only about a foot away from each other. Hell knows how long they were out.

"Doctor?" she breathes, coughing and sitting up slowly, looking at him.

"Yes? Urgh... Rose?" he replies weakly, nearly incoherent, opening his green eyes to peer at her. He blinks a few times, disoriented.

"Is it really you?" she asks, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek, brush his hair off of his forehead, and trace the lines in his skin. "New face," she observes.

His hand reaches up and holds hers there, "Yep, new face, same old me..." he confirms with a small smile.

"What ever happened to pinstripes and converse?" She wonders aloud, pulling playfully at his bowtie, voice still raw from inhaling smoke.

"Hey, don't knock it. I said it once and I will say it again, bowties are cool," he retorts, straightening his bowtie for good measure as he moves to sit up next to her. She just giggles, and all is quiet albeit the soft hum of the TARDIS, even if just for a moment.

"...My Doctor and I never stopped looking for you," she confesses once he had sat by her side, her head resting on his shoulder, "but he died 'fore we made it... he... he was the one who wrote up those maps to help us find each other."

"I know," he smiles even wider, his hand finding hers, "you told me."

She laughs, a tongue-touching smile spreading across her face, "Silly me. Don't let me drink so much next time. I might accidentally cause the _next_ end of the world."

The Doctor simply smirks again, his hand reaching out to caress her cheek with his thumb. He notes not to let her drink that much again, because she's right, with their luck she _would_ cause the world to end- _again_.

* * *

_And dreaming, pick up from_

_The last place we left off_

* * *

A blissful, healing silence follows, one that could calm storms and says everything that words don't. Their eyes search each other's, his apologizing for ever leaving her and hers telling him that everything is ok, everything will be ok.

She breaks the silence to say the one thing that it can't: "I love you."

He only hesitates for a moment, his usual clumsy self being replaced by the man who knows all the right words to say. "Rose Tyler... even after losing you and finding you and letting you go, losing you again... I can still say that I love you too and mean it just as much as I did on that beach in Norway all those years ago."

"Bad Wolf Bay," she recalls, her eyes growing damp. "I remember it like it was yesterday, the worst day of my life."

"Won't let it happen again," he quips sincerely, smirking.

Words evade her, her lip quivers and her eyes spill over with tears before she throws herself at him. Her arms wrap around him as tight as she can, like she never will let go. He holds her close, burying his lips in her ever-familiar hair, drinking in her scent. When he pulls away, his thumb absentmindedly brushes away a tear from her cheek, telling her not to cry. He kisses the tears away, but she can do nothing but weep in joy to make up for all the tears of pain.

_Finally_, she thinks, _I've found him. I'm home_.

* * *

_Your soft skin is weeping,_

_A joy you can't keep in_

* * *

Knock, knock, knock.

Amy Pond bounds to the door, peering through the peephole and yanking the door open when she sees who stands there.

"Hello, Pond!" The Doctor greets with a wave. A blonde woman whom is holding hands with him, one whom she had not initially noticed and doesn't recognize, gives a shy wave as well.

"Doctor! S'been months!" she replies, springing forward to hug him around the neck. He chortles, wrapping his arms around her and grinning. She pulls away with a small smile and immediately her eyes are on Rose. "Who's this?" she asks rather inquisitively.

"She's the TARDIS' newest permanent resident. Amy, I'd like you to meet Rose Tyler," he introduces, gesturing rather awkwardly to the blonde. "Rose, this is Amy Pond."

The Ponds didn't see very much more of The Doctor and Rose after that day, where the four of them went back in time to see the stars in the galaxy of Kirikot with their brilliant, once-in-a-lifetime light show. But they knew, after that day, that the Doctor was in good hands without them. After all, he had Rose now, and just looking at the two of them you know they're in love. The Doctor and Rose, the Oncoming Storm and his Bad Wolf.

So Amy doesn't worry now when she doesn't hear from the Doctor for months on end.

She doesn't need to. He's got Rose.

* * *

_I'm miles from where you are_

_And I, I lay down on the cold ground_

_I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_

**_End._**


End file.
